Whiskey and Beer
by dinofossil
Summary: Warning contains consensual spanking of an adult and minor language. Please don't read if this offends. Spoilers for S2. Dean sruggles with the circumstances surrounding his miraculous recovery, and seeks answers through a bottle.


**Disclaimer**: Don't own any of the characters. They belong to Eric Kripke, and the CW. No money being made either.

**Author's Notes/Warnings**: Some minor swearing and consensual spanking of an adult. I realize this may offend some people, particularly if I have written about a favorite or treasured fictional character. If you think this is you, grab your mouse, and click it to skip it.

It was only after I had written this that I realized that I had set it at a time when Sam would have been sporting a plaster cast. Ooops! So I had to make some amendments to try and make this work rather than just overlook it. My friend reviewed it, and after snorting derisorily, threw phrases such as 'stretching credibility' and 'totally out of character' at me like they were dirty words. Although suitably chastened, my part time studies have resumed, and so I have run out of both the time and spare brain power for a fuller re-write. Sorry folks.

**Whiskey and Beer**** by Dinofossil**

Something had disturbed Sam Winchester as he lay deeply buried beneath the warm covers of his bed. He couldn't be sure what had woken him, whatever it was seemed to have stopped, but experience had taught him to go with his instincts, and his growing unease prevented him from falling back asleep. Shrugging off the last dregs of drowsiness, he held his quickening breath and strained his eyes and ears towards the gloomy darkness.

Even though he knew it was unnecessary, he hastily reviewed his bedtime activities to reassure himself that nothing had been forgotten before hitting the sack. Night time rituals had been drilled into him from an early age, and where other children had ended their days with brushing teeth, saying prayers, and a comforting story, his had included the importance of laying rock-salt across thresholds, and deadlocking doors.

A heart stopping thud came suddenly from the far side of the room, forcing him to drop silently out of his now not so secure bed. Keeping low, he urgently swept his hands along the floor, searching out the bag where the loaded pistol was kept. Relief swept over him as he quickly found it, and dipping his hand in, he wrapped it solidly around the cold metal handle.

Standing up, he faced the general direction of the noise, and felt his stomach dive-bomb as a dark shadow lurched crazily across the moonlight breaking through the thin curtains. Too dark to take an accurate aim, he raised the gun and pointed it in what he hoped was the right direction.

The light flicked on suddenly, momentarily blinding him, and after a few eye clearing blinks, he found himself with the gun dangerously levelled at his brother's chest. He turned a ghostly white. "Dammit, Dean, I wasn't expecting you back till the morning, I almost shot you, do you have to come creeping in here like you're Jason Bourne?"

"S-Ssam…, S-Ssaammy…, little brother, gonna s-shoot me?" The drunken words were slurred out slowly on deep heavy breaths that left the air thick with the stale smell of what Sam could only guess was whiskey and beer.

"Drunk again, Dean?" Sam spat out angrily. During the last week Dean had swapped his role as dependable brother, to best friend of the bottle, and whiskey had suddenly become his new family.

"I'm not…, d-drunk…, 'm tired…, and emotional," Dean sniggered and tilted to a physically impossibly angle, before turning a worrying shade of bilious green. "An…, I'm…, I'm gonna throw up."

"Hold on." Sam grabbed him and pushed him into the bathroom, just making it in time to contain the torrent of liquid that spectacularly ejected itself from the heaving body. He stood listening to the sickening retches as Dean's stomach gratefully relieved itself of its contents.

This was the fifth night in a row that Dean had been drunk, and Sam didn't know if he should be feeling grateful that he'd managed to find his way back to the motel this time. The last few times, his brother hadn't even bothered to return until mid-morning, leaving him frantic with worry.

The sickness, well that was becoming par for the course, and for the fifth time Sam found himself playing nurse maid as he waited patiently for the retching to stop.

Thankfully the choking came to its expected conclusion, as long pitiful groans, loudly amplified by the toilet bowl, began to assault his ears. Wordlessly, he reached down and roughly man handled the Dean sized rag-doll up, dumping him unceremoniously into bed.

Now fully awake, he climbed back into his cold bed, and listened with a mixture of irritation and concern to the escalating chorus of snores and grunts coming from his unconscious brother.

xxxxxxxxxx

It was late by the time Dean finally stirred. Shading his eyes, he groaned loudly and ducked under the covers as Sam swept back the curtains, flooding the room with unbearable, headache inducing, light.

"C'mon sleeping beauty, time you were up." Sam thrust a cup of steaming coffee and couple of painkillers into the reluctant hands, and sat on the bed opposite drawing the ends of his eyebrows together with worry.

Eyeing him guiltily through the hot steam, Dean choked down the dry tablets and took a few tentative sips of the strong black liquid.

"Dean, we need to talk. You're starting to scare me with all this drinking, what's going on with you?" Sam knew exactly what was going on. It was no coincidence that his brother's sudden fondness for whiskey had started shortly after his confessed suspicions over the timings of his miraculous recovery, and their dad's death.

"Not my fault; the big boys at the bar keep making me drink."

Sam shook his head sadly. "I wish you'd just tell me why you keep getting drunk?"

"Because I keep getting sober," Dean said grinning.

Knowing his brother extreme dislike for emotional scenes, Sam thought he was prepared for glib responses, but to his shame, he felt his eyes filling up with tears. "This isn't funny, it's like you're a bomb that's been primed, and I'm watching the timer spinning back to zero. You're about to go off, Dean."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Dean said, then catching sight of Sam's eyes he added. "Making your mascara run there, best you head off to the ladies room for a quick touch-up."

"You know, I'm tired of you hiding behind your game face, it's not fooling me." Sam _was_ tired, and he was desperate, he'd known security vaults a dammed sight easier to crack than his brother was at this moment. "Look, I know you're hurting, and I only wish I knew how to help. Shouting does nothing, ignoring you…, well that was a resounding success, you used that as an excuse to take yourself off for another drink. Tell me what to do?"

Dean had just about had enough, climbing out of bed, he dismissed his brother. "Y' know, all I'm hearing is wah, wah, drinking, blah, blah, worried. I'll tell you what you should do, shut up, and leave me alone."

He disappeared into the bathroom to shower and dress, leaving Sam sitting despondently with his head in his hands, wondering how much more of this he could take, and more importantly, how much more his pig-headed brother could take.

A short while later, the door to the bathroom burst open in a cloud of warm steam and aftershave, and Dean sauntered out clearly revived. Puzzled, Sam watched as he moved around the room collecting his watch and keys, until it dawned on him like a blow to his gut… '_What the …?_' his brother surely wasn't going out again?

For the briefest of moments he considered wrestling him to the floor to stop him, but although he had the advantage of height on his side, he was sure Dean out classed him on sheer muscle power alone, and he didn't rate his chances too highly, if at all.

"Um…, mind if I tag along?" If physically stopping him was out of the question, then the least he could do was keep an eye on him.

Dean looked mildly irritated at the suggestion, but then relented as the spaniel eyes pleaded back at him. "Okay, but don't you dare cramp my style, and don't bitchface me about my drinking either."

xxxxxxxxxx

The bar was surprisingly full for daytime, and suited office workers jostled noisily with regulars for attention at the heaving bar. Sam had been quickly abandoned on their arrival, and he sat nursing a flat beer, while dismissing the female attention that came his way.

Dean was at the mid-way point of his drinking marathon. Seeing Sam's disapproving looks, he gave him a drunken thumbs-up, and steered his latest conquest across the crowded floor towards him.

"Sam, meet Stacey, She's hot and into sports."

The girl offered a limp hand to Sam. "Hi, I'm Amy, nice to meet you."

"Stacey, this is my brother, Sam, he's currently majoring in buzz-kill."

Sam took her hand, and gave her an apologetic smile. "Hey, Amy."

Dean tilted his head back to throw down another slug of whiskey, but drink had already dulled his sense of balance, and he swayed dangerously, battling with the forces of gravity. Feeling himself lunging forward, he put out a steadying hand, accidentally making contact with the surprised girl's breasts."

He looked down at his hand and grabbed a squeeze. "Awe, crap, she's wearing a spoil sports bra," he announced to Sam disappointedly.

"Hey, leave offa me, what kind of girl d'you think I am?" Amy angrily brushed Dean's hand away and glared at him. Taking a step back, she threw a pleading look for help around her.

Dean's eyebrows shot up, and his mouth started to form the beginnings of an apology his drunken brain couldn't quite deliver.

"Saaam! wanna help me out here?"

Sam _definitely_ wanted to help him out. With growing alarm, he noticed Amy's glass shattering decibels had attracted unwanted attention, and accusing glances were now being cast in their direction. As Amy continued to protest, a huge brick wall of a man put down his drink and moved menacingly towards them.

"_Shit!_" Sam jumped up to block Dean with his body. He'd already decided that Dean probably deserved to have his arse kicked, but this was beginning to turn nasty.

"Look, it was an accident, no harm done…. It's just that my brother's a bit drunk, and he's got behavioural problems." Sam diplomatically tried to explain.

"What sort of behavioural problems." The man shouted back angrily, spraying the air with his spit.

Sam turned to look accusingly at his brother. "He's stupid."

As if to prove him right, Dean body swerved his brother and stood gawping at the man. Giving him an exaggerated once over, he whispered loudly "Look at him, Sam; he's got one of those faces that says 'punch me."

Sam cringed as his brother's clearly audible comment bounced around the now silent room. He was just about to crank up the Sam Winchester charm a gear to smooth things over, when the fist intended for his brother hit him in the jaw like an express train. Propelled by the force, he collided with Dean, and they both fell to the floor in a mess of arms and legs.

As they lay there, Sam was relived to hear the gathering being broken up by bar staff, and rough hands hauled him off the sticky floor.

"You better leave before I call the cops." The barman warned, pushing them both roughly towards the exit.

xxxxxxxxxx

Safely inside the security of the Impala, Sam sat cradling his throbbing jaw, and threw his brother the ugliest stare he could manage. Only it was a completely wasted effort, Dean already lay with his head pressed uncomfortably against the window, as he took a short trip to the land of drunken oblivion.

During the drive back to the motel, Sam tried to figure out how he was going to stop him from looking at life through the bottom of a bottle. His brother's behaviour was not only dangerous and bad for his health, but Sam missed him. Dean was the glue that held them both together, the one thing that kept him going through the difficult times.

By his own admission, Dean was not the 'sit down with a tub of Ben & Jerry's and share' types, and Sam knew that whatever he decided would be difficult. As he pulled the car to a halt outside the motel, he hoped there wouldn't be too much blood splashed on the walls, because the odds were, it would be his.

Leaving Dean to sleep off the worst of his drink, Sam tried to keep himself occupied with some research, but the issue of how he was going to deal with his brother kept repeating on him and sticking in his tightening throat.

Recalling the past week, he realised that somewhere along the way their roles had been reversed, and he had become his brother's keeper. Then remembering the lectures he'd been forced to give, he quickly corrected himself. No, he had become more like the father figure.

Well, if Dean was forcing him to be more dad-like, how about if he resorted to a little old-fashioned discipline himself, it would certainly be easier than a bout of hand-to-hand combat, and he knew from past painful trips over both his dad's and Dean's laps, that it was a quick and effective way of dealing with issues when all else had failed.

The decision made, he sat back in his chair feeling easier than he had for days.

xxxxxxxxxx

It was early evening by the time Dean awoke, and already the light outside the window was starting to fade. Sam busied himself at the table; trying to hide the feelings of nerves trampling all over him. He'd enjoyed nightmares more than he was enjoying this.

Sensing he was being watched, he turned round to face Dean, only to catch him staring intently at his badly bruised jaw. Sam did a double take, because correct him if he was wrong, but Dean almost looked regretful.

"Um…, sorry about, y' know…, earlier," It was not the best apology Sam had ever heard.

Taking advantage of the opening, Sam moved over to him, his legs as unsteady as a newborn colt's, and took a seat on the bed opposite.

"Are you ready to talk about this?" He said firmly.

Dean rolled his eyes and sighed. "Quit giving me ear ache, that wasn't an invitation to share girl-talk."

"I know, but your behaviour's worrying me, and I want to talk about it." Sam hoped his nerves weren't betraying him.

Dean glared at his brother with pure insolence. "Okay, Sam, tell you what…, why don't I set you up in front of a mirror, then you can sit and yammer all you like? Me…? I'm off out."

Sam drew himself up to his full height. "No, you're staying, and we're going to discuss this whether you like it or not, and if you're not prepared to talk, then I've got a plan for that as well, so this is the last time I'm going to ask. What's this all about?"

Dean laughed derisively. "Think you're big enough to stop me?"

Sam drew in a deep fortifying breath. "If this is a contest of strength, then yeah…, I get it…, you'd probably win. But it's more important than that, it's about you being primed to go off any minute, and that scares me, Dean." Sam dealt him the body blow, "and unless we both deal with this now, I can't be with you, because I'm not going to stay and watch you throw your life away."

Dean looked as though he'd been slapped across the face as he reddened in shock. "Sam, no…" he said softly.

Sam moved in for the kill, revealing his winning hand. "I've walked out of your life before, remember? So don't think I won't do it again. You do know I'm serious, don't you?"

Dean nodded silently, worry and uncertainty masking his face.

"Y' know, Dean, dad wouldn't have tolerated this sort of crap from you for a second, and we both know how he'd have dealt with it, so you're going to let me help you get back on track, because I'm not seeing any other options here."

Dean looked on horrified. "What…? No…. You're going to spank me? You can't spank me."

"I can, and I'm going to." Sam said grimly.

"No, I mean you _can't _spank me. Dude, what about your arm?" He pointed at the plaster encasing Sam's arm, a little hope returning to his worried face.

Reaching down to undo his buckle, Sam explained. "I know, that's why I'm going to use my belt. So, jeans and boxers down, and bend over the bed."

"No, I'm not going to let you do this." Dean shook his head violently.

"Fine…, then I'll be gone by tonight. Congratulations, you're off the hook. Maybe you should go out for a drink to celebrate?"

Dean stood, the muscles in his jaw tightly clenching. He hesitated for a few seconds looking ready to walk, but then the fear of losing his brother returned to mask his face. "Okay…, you win, but this won't change anything."

Turning his back to his brother, Dean dropped his jeans and boxers and leant over the bed.

Doubling up the belt in his hand, Sam found he had to draw on the recent memories of his brother's drinking to remind himself exactly why he was doing this. Suitably angered, he raised the belt and brought it swinging down with a loud thwack on Dean's backside.

He watched as his brother bunched two fistfuls of blanket in his hands, and buried his face into the covers of the bed.

Not giving himself time to think, Sam quickly laid down a few heavy swats, leaving a criss-cross of deep red stripes in his wake. As the leather strap continued to fall, Dean's body tensed, and deep grunts punctuated with hissed curses filled the air.

"Right, want to tell me what this is about?" Sam was keen to get this over with.

Met by a complete wall of silence, Sam tried again. "Dean, are you in there?" Still nothing.

Sam wasn't used to playing dad, but he well remembered from his own painful experience how this should be played out. Turning up the heat, he put a little more force behind his swings, and moved down to target the sensitive areas of the thighs.

Immediately Dean let out a loud yelp, and his discomfort was obvious as he started squirming, but to Sam's surprise, he remained firmly in place accepting his punishment.

"Look, …_sonofabitch!_, I'm sorry for drinking…_OW_!, I won't do it again…_dammit SAM!_, so you can stop anytime n-_OW_!"

Sam stopped and drew his lungs into the pit of his stomach in a deep sigh. "That's not what this is about; I'm not looking for an apology here, I want to know why you're going off the rails?"

Dean tried to discretely wipe his eyes, but he couldn't hide the upset from his voice. "Dad never should have struck that deal with the demon. It should be him that's here with you now, not me. You'd have both made better hunters, I'm not as smart as you, Sam, and I will never be as good a hunter as dad was."

Sam was completely floored by the admission. He knew that there were times when his brother was harsh on himself, but this…

He resumed swatting the fiery red backside to drive his point home. "Dean, even if I went to Stanford for a hundred years, and even if I read every damn book in their library, I would still never be a better man than you. Nobody hunts like you, you're experienced, smart and strong, and nobody was a better judge of that than dad. With all the faith you had in him, why can't you accept that he believed you were worth saving? Now please tell me you get it so I can stop?"

"I'll probably need more time to get my head round this, but yeah…, I promise I'll be a bit more grown up about it in future."

Sam put a hand on Deans shaking shoulders, and gave him what he hoped was a reassuring rub. "That's it, were done here, c'mon, let me help you up."

Dean stood and winced as he pulled his jeans back into place. After taking a few seconds to compose himself, he turned to face his brother, and was surprised to see that Sam had been silently crying behind him. Putting on an exaggerated eye roll, he opened his arms. "You're such a girl, Sammy, c'mere and let me make it better."

Dropping the belt to the floor, Sam threw his arms around his brother and held him tightly.

As they stood rebuilding their bonds, a muffled voice piped up, "Sam, just one more thing…You know you said I was experienced, smart and strong? Well you forgot to mention I'm also devilishly handsome."

Sam allowed himself a small smile of relief. His brother was back.

The end


End file.
